


meet me in the middle

by Addie_D_123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Blood, Child Neglect, M/M, Mental Instability, Monsters, Paranoia, Separation Anxiety, Weecest, pyrokinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3647454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Addie_D_123/pseuds/Addie_D_123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Big Blue House next to the valley of the monsters, Dean and Sam's adventure begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	meet me in the middle

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a few lines from this brilliant song. 
> 
> And if my parents are crying,  
> Then I'll dig a tunnel, from my window to yours  
> Yeah, a tunnel from my window to yours
> 
> \- "Neighborhood #1" Arcade fire

 

 

 

 

Mary Campbell was lovely: beautiful and bright, fierce and loyal. As smart as she was stubborn; the stuff of legends. She was the kind of woman you’d write songs about, and one man did. John Winchester. With a chiseled jaw and dark sharp eyes that were always seeking her out, it didn’t take long.

“Miss Mary Campbell, would you make me the luckiest man in the world?”

His proposal had been simple, perfect.  Soon Mary Campbell was Mary Winchester and she found herself in the Big Blue House on the hill.

“My Queen,” he had stated solemnly with a bow, eyes sparkling as he carried her over the threshold the very first time.

Set back one thousand strides from the rest of the town, past a field of dead grass like hay and a patch of burred bramble and vines. Looking down from the wrap around porch she often felt like a queen surveying her kingdom, her handsome king by her side. In her quiet moments, as the sun lowered before her eyes and sunk down to silhouette the town, she would turn to the South. To the Big Red House that sat on its own hill across the sloping valley in between. The house was empty, but in good repair. She wondered why no one ever came there, so she could finally have neighbors.

And in their solitude they spent their time well, and soon the two made four. Two beautiful boys; the younger Sam and the older Dean. Four years between them but as thick as thieves. Though isolated, the two boys grew up big and strong. And in such close quarters, like the vines that covered the East side of their house, they grew entwined and twisted together. Inseparable. To take one away from the other was to take a piece of their heart with him, a piece of their soul.

“Boys, come down for lunch!” Mary would call and they scrambled down the stairs and past so fast her hair blew back in their wake. Palms together like in prayer, their fingers entwined always. Mary couldn’t find much fault in it. Family that stuck together was strong and protected. She would watch her boys in their quiet moments together and it sometimes seemed they had a language only they could understand. Dean would carefully cut the crusts off Sam’s peanut butter and banana sandwiches as he beamed at his little brother. Laughing when Sam smeared peanut butter across his top lip just so Dean would lean forward to kiss it off. Her sons were just close, affectionate. She never had half the worries of some mothers when she knew Dean would always keep Sammy under his wing. But John did worry.

“It’s not natural. Not right. Those two are too old to act this way.”

Eight and twelve isn’t so old Mary thought. “It’s not like they have too many other kids to talk to, the way you keep them cooped up in this house.”

And then the fighting would start. Mary wanted to visit the town, she wanted to work or make acquaintances at the grocery. Maybe if she could just work in the yard, plant some white roses or a cherry tree. But John always warned the same thing.

“It’s too dangerous. I told you what’s out there, what you can’t see. The thing that lurks in the corner of your eye, in the peripheral. The thing that disappears as soon as you turn to catch it.”

These things lived in the tall grass and in the trees. Some like giant snakes with a million legs and some with big sharp teeth all covered in fur. She had never seen one before but the look in John’s eye told her she didn’t want to. Her king said there were monsters, and she believed him. But the years had worn on them both, and finally the time came for a break. They agreed not to divorce; just a brief separation, to catch their breath.

“I’ve made arrangements to stay in the Miller house,” John told her during their last talk, turning with one arm extended to the Big Red House across the way, “so I’ll still be close if you need me.”

Mary knew she was lucky to have such a caring and protective husband. But what he said next tested her to her very core.

“And I think it would be best if the boys had a break as well. Spent a little time apart. Time to grow.”

The boys were oblivious to the scene downstairs. Squeezed together in their shared bed they hid under the covers and told scary stories by flashlight. Dean told him all about the creatures outside their door, and Sam listened with wide, wet eyes. Dean pulled the cover back for a moment and pointed out their window to that Big Red House.

“And that’s their master’s house, the King of the Monsters.”

“Shut up, De, no it’s not.”

Dean would walk his fingers up Sam’s spine and tickle the back of his neck.

“Wassamatter Sammy, scared?”

And Sam was. It made the fire in his eyes spark. Dean slung an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. Pressed his nose into his brother’s soft hair and breathed deeply. Long and unruly and smelling of the baby shampoo Dean still insisted on using when he bathed him every night.

“Dean, how come we can’t see the monsters?” He would always ask, and not knowing the answer Dean would just echo his father’s words. That you couldn’t see them because they hid in the shadows, in the corner of your eye. But sometimes in the middle of the night, when it was real quiet, you could hear them. They scrabbled and crunched their way across the ground in the valley between the hills. Scurrying through the twisted vines and matted hay, it’s when they came out to feed.

“But Sammy, you don’t gotta be scared. You’re not gonna be tricked by them, you’re too smart. Anyways they wouldn’t dare eat you. And if they tried…”

Dean would push back his hair from his forehead and plant a warm kiss there.

“They’ll have to go through me first.”

It was Spring when John finally moved, and he took Sam with him. It was a struggle, emotionally and physically. Sam clung to Dean, dug his little fingers into his back where his arms failed to wrap around. Dean smiled down at him, tears salty on his lips.

“It’s gonna be fine Sammy. I’ll be right across the way. I can watch out for you from here, won’t let anything happen to you. You just gotta be brave.”

And as Sam was scooped up by their father he kicked and screamed so loud that the house shook around them. When they stepped off the porch the walls shivered and framed photos crashed to the floor. Mary placed a hand on the back of Dean’s neck and it was ice cold.

At first Mary was nervous, careful. But then she became bold. She went out one day and planted rose bushes all along the South side of the house, the side facing John. She wanted him to see that she was okay, at least during the day. The sun warmed her skin and lit up her eyes. And when she later found a half moon of thorn pricks on her forearm she didn't admit, even to herself, that it resembled a bite.

It didn't take long for Dean to formulate a plan to get back to his Sammy. The valley was too wild and dangerous to cross on foot, especially without a proper weapon or armor. But if he could travel the space hidden out of sight he might stand a chance. So he decided to dig.

Every night after Mary would tuck him in she assured him.

“There you are, safe as houses.” Ran her fingers through his hair and pulled the blankets to his chin and kissed his nose.

“Goodnight, my little angel.”

Then Dean would wait. First for the soft click of her locking his door from the outside, then the softer sound of her own. She always locked the doors these days.

He slunk out his covers and went to the window to check for Sam. Waited a few minutes until Sam’s bed side lamp illuminated the room, and raised his hand, pressing it to the glass. The surface always seemed to warm under his touch with Sam’s eyes fixed on him. With a wave he gingerly opened his window and scaled the side of the house, down the lattice and the ancient vines. Dean had been clever enough to start his hole between the bushes, out of sight unless you were looking for it.

He had made good progress digging with only cupped hands and a borrowed trowel. He dug high and wide. Enough space so he could sit on his bottom and his head would clear the top of the space. Enough room so he could crawl with Sam on his back if he got too scared.

It was slow and exhausting work. Dean would dig for hours, leaving little piles in his wake. Then before his crawl back up through his window came the hardest part. Using Sam’s forgotten sand pail he would haul bucket after bucket of dirt out of the hole to the back of the house. Soon this pile became a hill, and then the hill became a mountain. But as the mountain grew so did Dean’s excitement, and the dark smudges like bruises under his eyes. Another day closer to Sammy. Every sleepless night bringing him closer to his brother.

“How do you get so filthy?” Mary asked with a soft smile as she scrubbed the black from under his fingernails. He felt his heavy eyelids closing and he made note to be more careful in the future. Sam was waiting for him, Sam was impatient. And Sam was very afraid of the dark.

So every night was the same.

“Goodnight my little angel.”

First, to check for Sam’s silhouette in the window. See that light in his eyes that warmed Dean’s insides no matter their distance. He'd let it warm his frigid fingers and carry him out the window. Then he would descend the castle wall, crawl down the rabbit hole and dig, dig, dig. But after a few weeks a night came where Sam’s light didn’t come on, there was no little mop of hair with firefly eyes there to greet him. And Dean wondered if Sam’s bed was very comfortable, or if it was cold and too big like his own.

Spring turned into fall and winter was closing in. The nights seemed longer now, the soil was harder and his wrists ached with the effort. Mary cried less, but now she yelled. About his spilled milk or his unmade bed or his messy, uncombed hair. He had lost track of how long he had been digging but when he had managed to make it halfway between the two houses, frost had settled on the rose bushes that marked its entrance.

Dean felt hungry all of the time. And Dad never came to visit.

This is the time when the sounds began. Dean couldn’t remember exactly when he started hearing them, and at first he thought it was only his imagination. The black dirt all around him muffled the sound of his own heavy breathing like a tomb. But underneath it, louder than his own heartbeat or the sound of his digging, there was a scratching. The _scrape scrape_ like claws moving through the soil, and the sound was getting closer.

“Hello?”

He squeaked into the black nothingness which he realized was very silly. Monsters didn’t want to talk, they wanted to eat. Dean’s pulse quickened, the sweat burning his eyes. He retreated for the night with bloody fingers and muddy toes.

Mary confronted him the next day. Bandaged his fingers and warned with eyes brimming with tears. She had tripped and nearly twisted an ankle while walking round the side of the house. She had discovered his escape tunnel.

“Whatever you think you’re doing Dean, you need to stop.”

She kissed each fingertip while he squirmed and whined.

“You are here with me now. Not with Dad, and _not_ with Sam.”

He slapped her hand away and a tear dropped off her chin.

“Now be my big boy. Be my little angel and stop this.”

She informed him that he would be proceeding straight to bed, with no dinner. Again. He clenched his fists until his fingers ached. She would go to the yard first thing in the morning to fill his tunnel in. She pointed out the window at a large stone next to the line of bushes. The sky flashed with lightning and rain began to fall, the night suddenly darker.

“I’m going to roll that over your hole and you will never go near it again.”

The thunder that rolled through the house rattled around his empty belly and Dean burned inside. He turned to the window and clenched his fists tighter until ragged little nails split and blood welled up around the bandages. Mary jumped at the loud _pop_ the window made, a crack shooting across its surface. She turned to Dean, eyes accusing and terrified. Pointed up the stairs with a shaky hand and a shiver in her voice.

“To bed. Now.”

Dean climbed the stairs quickly, knowing tonight would be the night he reached Sam’s window. He had never been apart from him for even one day since his birth. Even when Sam was a baby he had slept like a dog at the foot of his crib. And when Sam graduated from crib to bed he just crawled in next to Dean and never left. Dean fell asleep every night to the rise and fall of Sammy's tiny chest and he found he couldn't rest without it.

When he burst into his room he rushed to the window and found Sam looking out for him like he’d been waiting. And somehow he knew that he would be. Sam held up a hand to him and smiled that knowing smile that was only for Dean. A big brilliant grin like when he read his first bedtime story to Dean instead of the other way around. Like when Dean would kiss his eyelids, the tip of his nose and then finally, after a pause, his lips before bed. Or like the first time he spoke. Scrambling across the floor he had grabbed on to Dean’s pant leg and pulled himself up. Craning his head up and pointing one chubby finger he glowed like sunshine and spoke with barely contained glee.

“De!”

Dean had scooped him up and his heart felt like it might burst.

“Yeah, Sammy, that’s me.”

When he met his mother’s gaze from across the room and saw his pride reflected as hurt in her teary eyes, it was then that he knew what it meant to truly belong to a person. And he belonged to his Sammy.

Sam pressed his hand to the glass, his face lit by flickering firelight as he reached out to touch the edge of the curtains. Dean stood transfixed as flames danced across Sam’s fingertips like gold and white sprites. Before Dean could cry out to him, the right side of the window was alive with fire. Long waving tendrils crawled up the curtains and stretched out to touch the ceiling. Sam ran his hand along his bed and blankets then and on to his nightstand, leaving a trail of lovely orange and yellow light. And then he was gone.

Dean scrambled to unlock the window, yanking it open roughly. Swinging his legs over the side he descended the wall quickly, his hands slipping on the rain slick trellis halfway down. As he landed his ankle twisted painfully under him and he fell to his knees. Crawling into the hole he made his way to where the passage ended, tears blurring his vision and making tracks down his filthy face. The ground seemed to vibrate above him and he imagined hundreds of monsters, with thousands of tiny feet and claws marching overhead. And ahead of him in the relative quiet of the tunnel he heard it again, the scratching. _Scrape scrape_. And it was growing louder, and closer. But he dug on. His bloody bandages torn off and embedded in the mud, he hissed at the sting of newly opened wounds.

Under his hands the trembling of the ground got stronger and stronger and he dug faster and faster. He pleaded to the silence around him, wishing it would carry his words up to Sam’s window. Repeating his mantra to keep his heart from climbing out of his throat.

“I’m coming, Sammy. Nothing’s gonna get you. I’m coming.”

Head down and determined. Mumbling over the rumble of thunder and the skittering of those thousands of feet, he was too focused on his task to see it coming. At last he pushed forward with one clawed hand, feeling it burst through to the other side and into thin air. The remains of the wall crumbled before him and left him face to face with the creature he had heard burrowing towards him. A streaky, red faced, mopped haired little brother that shrieked and dove at him. Wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face in his shoulder he cried out.

“You found me, De, before the monsters did! I knew you would!”

Sammy’s clothes were singed and smelled of sour smoke. He pulled back and ran hands over him to access the damage. He was all in one piece, but he could feel the heat and see the flicker of flames at the other end of the tunnel. And his momentary relief disappeared.

“Sam, where’s Dad?”

And Sam just closed his eyes and shook his head. The air seemed so much thinner suddenly, and both boys coughed.

“Sammy, why?”

It was all he could do to ask and when Sam turned to look back behind him the flames danced, reflected in his wet eyes.

“That house was evil, Dean. It made Dad bad. It made him King of the Monsters.”

With one final shudder like a chill, the passage behind Dean collapsed on itself and the moment got impossibly more still. Dean sucked in a ragged breath of smoke thick air.

“Okay, Sammy, remember when I said you were gonna have to be brave?”

Sam nodded, eyes shut tight against the world around him.

“Well now is the time kiddo, cuz we gotta dig.”

Dean looked at the space above their heads and swallowed hard.

“Up.”

They worked silently, apart from their wheezing and hacking. Sam kept stealing glances at his brother, his lips in a tight line of determination. They would save the tears for later, after they were free.

They broke the surface what felt like years later, the top layer of soil softened by the rain. Clawing and gasping as if from the grave, they hauled themselves onto solid ground. Dean pulled himself up on wobbling legs, clutching Sam to his side. The fire illuminated the entire valley like daytime, and Dean took a deep breath and looked. He didn’t see the monsters, all the shadows obliterated by the strange unearthly light. Rain poured down on their shivering bodies and washed the filth from their faces like a baptism. To their right the Red House roared and shrieked, the fire dancing up the structure turning it black and orange and gold. To their left the Blue House shimmered, a mirage in the firelight.

And like a woman holding vigil Mary stood on the bottom stair of the porch with arms outstretched towards them. She stared over at her boys and Sam raised a hand in recognition. His lips moved but Dean could not make out the words over the rumble of thunder. Suddenly her head turned away, eyes focused somewhere in the distance as she stepped off the porch and started walking. With slow, determined steps she made her way blindly in the dark. Back warmed by the fire, she wandered towards the town like a woman possessed. And she never looked back.

Sam gazed up at his brother and took his blackened and bloody hand in his. Weaving their fingers together he tugged at him until Dean brought his face down close, so close. Sam lay a tiny hand on Dean’s cheek then, tilted his face up and pressed his warm dry lips to Dean’s tear soaked ones.

“It’s okay, De.”

His whisper barely audible above the roar of the flames and the screams of the storm.

“We’re both brave now.”

And Sam pulled him along in their first tentative steps into the heart of the valley. Dean hobbled along side him in pain, but never faltered. Past the Big Blue House and the burning corpse of the Big Red House. Past the mountain of dirt that stood in testament to Dean’s devotion. Beyond to the place where creatures with a thousand legs and dark bloody fur and sharp gnashing teeth ruled their own vast kingdom.

“I won’t let the monsters get you. And if they try…”

Dean let Sam lead him away from their lives apart and into the dark. To their life together. Forever.

“They’ll have to go through me first.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Super special thanks and tackle hugs to [silver9mm](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silver9mm/pseuds/silver9mm)  
> for helping me turn this slip of an idea into a story. Seriously, you're the best. xx
> 
>  
> 
> And if you want to listen to the song, and you should, here it is.  
> [Neighborhood # 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VU_2R1rjbD8)  
> 


End file.
